((GM'ing approved by Lore))Jerry finally swung. Three little paps hit Michael, followed by even littler Sorrys, and goshs, with a surprising lack of Golly Gee Willickers. Michael backed away, his arms raising. The hits hurt, well not really, small stinging little hits that were just pathetic, like a sixth grader punching or some shit. "Ay chill out a moment..." Jerry had stopped punching.

"Dude, what the fuck was that?!" Michael found himself laughing at what unfolded. Was that really his best? "Caaahhm aaaahn man! You gotta be able to hit harder than that man, wouldn't be able to put that spear of yours through a stick of butter punchin' like that!" That was pathetic but Jerry looked pissed as shit with Michael laughing at him, maybe he should give him another chance?

"Alrighty, I'm sorry, you were probably warmin' up or some shit, you wanted to see if I was serious enough, I get it." Michael hopped in place again. "Okay, this time for real, hit me as hard as yo-" Jerry cut him off with a quick jab just under the center of his chest. To say it hurt was an understatement. To say he didn't expect it was an understatement. To say it winded him, well, it was also an understatement. To say it floored him, well that too was also an understatement. To say his tongue and eyes bulged out as he rolled onto his back wheezing? Not too much of an understatement...

"G-gimme a moment, f-fuck." He rolled over, coughing. He coughed and gagged as he almost lost his lunch then and there. "H-help me up." He could hear Jerry quietly laugh under his breath, the bastard. He probably faked those punches to get Michael with the good one. Fucking Jerry and his fucking sneaky ballet-ninja tricks. Jerry asked if Michael was alright, so maybe he didn't intend to hit him that hard. Michael replied with a simple alright. "That was good, hit like that from now on."

As he stood up, he took one last breath in to make sure he recovered, before turning around and elbowing Jerry right in the nose. Michael grinned and spoke, his voice still a bit hoarse. "Or hit like this..." Michael went closer to Jerry, asking him if he was alright. They were even right now, shot for shot, tit for tat, they both knew how hard the other could hit, they could stop there, but that would've been too good to have been true, Michael didn't know he'd awoken the beast that is Jerry Larkin. Michael should have known something was up when Jerry started laughing. He certainly knew when his back smashed against a nearby jeep, with Jerry's fists smashing against his face. Oh now it's on...

Michael shoved Jerry back, and ducked the next swing Jerry gave. He followed through with a quick punch to the gut, followed by his own flurry of punches. Jerry's arm swung out and caught Michael right in the side of the jaw, sending him stumbling to the left. Michael yelled out "That's the spirit motherfucker! Hit me in my fuckin' face you bitch!" as Jerry bum-rushed him. Jerry attempted a tackle, but Michael caught him, sending an elbow into his back before tumbling him to the side. Normally, he didn't hit people on the ground, let alone someone friendly, but these were different circumstances, Jerry had also tried to knock him on the floor with that tackle after all. He grabbed Jerry's shirt with one arm and began pounding on him with the other, before Jerry swung his own arm out, hitting Michael right in the dick. He stumbled back, lamenting the fact he didn't have a tire codpiece to protect him as Jerry got up and rushed him again...

--- --- ---

It was now day 2, Jerry and Michael were sitting outside the vehicle depot, bruised and bloodied. Michael stared at his face through the reflection of his sunglasses, boy did he look like shit. His hair was every which way, black eye, cut on his cheek, swollen lip. He looked over at Jerry, who had his own battle scars, black eye, knots on the forehead, a bloody nose, yep, Jerry wasn't looking too much better. Their clothing was also rather worn and covered with dirt as well. Michael's eyes trailed along his blue aloha shirt as he searched his bag for food. "You ruined my favorite shirt, ya' jerk..." He heard Jerry laugh, and to be honest, he laughed with him.

There wasn't any ill will about the fight. It was practice, and there was that guarantee the rest of the island was gonna hurt a lot worse. Besides, if you could fight someone like that, then sit by them for the rest of the night, you knew there was trust somewhere. He'd forgotten to eat his packed lunch before the trip, so now he had to deal with a soggy PB&J sandwich, lukewarm Gatorade, and a small bag of spicy Cheetos. It's still better than soggy ration bars, lukewarm water, and dry crackers though. He finished the sandwich, it wasn't too bad, flavor was still good, it was just that the texture was just off, before taking a drink of his Gatorade. He opened the Cheetos, before looking over to Jerry. Did he have anything to eat? Well, barring the tasteless shit the terrorists gave, should have at least gave them something with flavor for Christ's sake. Maybe he should offer him the Cheetos?